I had a very scary situation with blood about six or seven years ago. Every once in awhile after you take a crap, you might wipe a little bit too hard. It may be you or it might have been the toilet paper you used. (You know the kind that feels like it is made of Plexiglas. That is why you should never steal TP from hotels.) Hell, it may have been something you ate, but you will see some red. Not alarming, it is just the nature of the dump trade. (I always like using the word dump, it makes me laugh. When I was a kid we called it bom bom. I have no idea why, and haven’t gotten around to asking my mom why we used such a stupid term.)
Well, I ended up wiping blood for about three days. I was a little worried, but I was regular so who can bitch. By the way they say you should eat five fruits and vegetables to become that way. But to be honest over the course of a week that is thirty five fruits and vegetables and I don’t have the time for that. So on Sunday I eat thirty five fruits and vegetables. Now, I’m not regular, I’m fucking congruent. Anyway, I bought some Preparation H and figured it would go away.
Fast forward a few nights later and it is Christmas Eve. I use the bathroom and wipe. First wipe no brown, just bright red. And I mean fucking bright red. Brighter than a heavy metal band member’s leather pants. Second, third, fourth wipe and more bright red. No pain, just red. What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m bleeding out my ass. Not something I’m familiar because I am pretty off limits down there. I mean hell I can’t even handle a suppository. And remember blood = worry, so I’m thinking what should I do.
Ok, I need to digress for a bit. I said down there is off limits but there was this one time years ago. I was living back East and my buddy owned a dry cleaner. One of his customers had tickets to a Phillies game, so we all went. The game got rained out and we were drinking before hand. We were pretty lit, with nowhere to go, so my buddy’s customer, who was married, suggests we go to an Asian Bath House and get massages. So we show up and go into our private rooms. This Asian lady is rubbing my back and then asks me, “You want happy ending? Fifteen dollar!” Well, I’m pretty loaded and was a single 25 year old guy so I figured what the fuck.
Then I notice I have no money, but knew one of my friends did. So I wrap up in a towel and run down to another of the private rooms. I barge in and there is my buddy getting a happy ending. He was like, “What are you doing, Cooper?” I told him taking some money out of his pants that were on the floor, and he couldn’t do a fucking thing about it right now. So I run back to my private room and give the lady my cash. As she is stroking me, she is also putting her finger, you know where. I would have told her to stop, but she is a professional so probably knows what she was doing. Plus I didn’t want to piss her off because my dick was in her hand and I didn’t want to get an Indian burn. Anyway she gets done and we all meet up at the car. I ask my friends, “Hey, did any of you get a finger up your ass?” And they were like, “No, dude, you must have gotten the bonus plan!”
To be continued...
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Things I Am Thankful For - Conclusion
I am thankful that I know how to tell a joke and know a lot of them. I can’t stand when some dunce tries to tell me a joke and it takes the person ten fucking years to spit it out. And then they screw it up and have to start over again and again. As they drone on through what seems like an eternal hell, you are praying that the punch line is funny. But it never is and you already knew it anyway.
I am thankful my parents taught me manners and for the people who appreciate them. However, I swear to god, if I hold the door for some ignorant asshole one more time and they forget to say, “Thank You,” I will put them in a blender and push frappe’!
I am thankful for cameras on cell phones. When I am out drinking and get a girl’s phone number I always can snap a picture of what they look like so the next day I know whether to call them or not. However, women I meet have snapped my photo and they haven’t called me back. Bummer!
I am thankful that I am not a one upper. You know that type of person. Whatever you have done, they have done it better. If you drink 7-Up, they drink 8-up. If you said you have dated some beautiful women, they say that they have dated models that have walked the runways in France. (Oh, and the one upper is a fucking troglodyte.) If you say you saw Springsteen front row, they say they actually jumped up on stage and instead of getting thrown off, Clarence gave them his tambourine and they jammed with the E-Street Band! You all know the type of asshole I am talking about, unless you are that asshole. If that is the case I am sorry you have to read my blog, because you probably have published a 600 page, Pulitzer Prize winning novel.
I am thankful I have never wanted to be a mime. Well, I was a tap dancing mime for awhile and I was good. So good, you couldn’t hear my feet! Who becomes a mime anyway? How fucked up do you have to be to wear white make up on your face, a beret, a red scarf, a striped shirt and have Shields and Yarnell posters on your wall?
I am thankful that I know how to give a compliment and enjoy doing it. I would hate to be the guy who gives a compliment and it comes across insincere, perverted, creepy or like you are just trying to get down someone’s pants! Of course if the latter happens because of the compliments, I am not going to complain!
I am thankful that I have never been the new annoying person at any job I have worked. I am usually quiet when I start and once I get to know my co-workers I let them see my funny side. I can’t stand that asshole that is always “on” and thinks he knows everything. He needs to be popular even though he never has been and never will be. Oh, FYI, “We don’t give a fuck how it was done at your other job. So go into the corner, put a rope around your neck and I will come over and kick the chair out. Thank you, jerk off!”
I am thankful that I have a good sense of humor and it allows me to get away with saying things that other people can’t. It is a great feeling to tell someone who is an asshole that they are an asshole to their face and follow that up with the line, “I’m just joking,” which even though you aren’t, it seems like you are. It is even better when that asshole laughs and buys you a drink. “Thanks, for the beer. Asshole!”
I am thankful that I can be a dick, but I know I can be a dick. Because when that happens and you admit being a dick, then people don’t really think you are that much of a dick because you admitted it. I would hate to be the person who can be a dick, but doesn’t think they are a dick. When that happens you are then perceived of being even a bigger dick then you are!
A serious note. I am thankful for, well one thing, spell check and the green lines that show up if you wrote the sentence wrong. (Because grammatically, I am a fucking moron!) Actually, I am thankful for my friends and family and being able to express myself. I am thankful for those who read my blog, because without you, I couldn’t get gratification that my writing makes you laugh. So, happy Thanksgiving!
I am thankful my parents taught me manners and for the people who appreciate them. However, I swear to god, if I hold the door for some ignorant asshole one more time and they forget to say, “Thank You,” I will put them in a blender and push frappe’!
I am thankful for cameras on cell phones. When I am out drinking and get a girl’s phone number I always can snap a picture of what they look like so the next day I know whether to call them or not. However, women I meet have snapped my photo and they haven’t called me back. Bummer!
I am thankful that I am not a one upper. You know that type of person. Whatever you have done, they have done it better. If you drink 7-Up, they drink 8-up. If you said you have dated some beautiful women, they say that they have dated models that have walked the runways in France. (Oh, and the one upper is a fucking troglodyte.) If you say you saw Springsteen front row, they say they actually jumped up on stage and instead of getting thrown off, Clarence gave them his tambourine and they jammed with the E-Street Band! You all know the type of asshole I am talking about, unless you are that asshole. If that is the case I am sorry you have to read my blog, because you probably have published a 600 page, Pulitzer Prize winning novel.
I am thankful I have never wanted to be a mime. Well, I was a tap dancing mime for awhile and I was good. So good, you couldn’t hear my feet! Who becomes a mime anyway? How fucked up do you have to be to wear white make up on your face, a beret, a red scarf, a striped shirt and have Shields and Yarnell posters on your wall?
I am thankful that I know how to give a compliment and enjoy doing it. I would hate to be the guy who gives a compliment and it comes across insincere, perverted, creepy or like you are just trying to get down someone’s pants! Of course if the latter happens because of the compliments, I am not going to complain!
I am thankful that I have never been the new annoying person at any job I have worked. I am usually quiet when I start and once I get to know my co-workers I let them see my funny side. I can’t stand that asshole that is always “on” and thinks he knows everything. He needs to be popular even though he never has been and never will be. Oh, FYI, “We don’t give a fuck how it was done at your other job. So go into the corner, put a rope around your neck and I will come over and kick the chair out. Thank you, jerk off!”
I am thankful that I have a good sense of humor and it allows me to get away with saying things that other people can’t. It is a great feeling to tell someone who is an asshole that they are an asshole to their face and follow that up with the line, “I’m just joking,” which even though you aren’t, it seems like you are. It is even better when that asshole laughs and buys you a drink. “Thanks, for the beer. Asshole!”
I am thankful that I can be a dick, but I know I can be a dick. Because when that happens and you admit being a dick, then people don’t really think you are that much of a dick because you admitted it. I would hate to be the person who can be a dick, but doesn’t think they are a dick. When that happens you are then perceived of being even a bigger dick then you are!
A serious note. I am thankful for, well one thing, spell check and the green lines that show up if you wrote the sentence wrong. (Because grammatically, I am a fucking moron!) Actually, I am thankful for my friends and family and being able to express myself. I am thankful for those who read my blog, because without you, I couldn’t get gratification that my writing makes you laugh. So, happy Thanksgiving!
Thursday, January 14, 2010
The Politics of Drinking - Part 2
Stealing booze from your parents was another effective method. When you did this, you had to make sure your parents didn’t put a mark on the bottle. This was the sure way of getting caught. And if they did put a little line to where the meniscus of whiskey was, you had to replace it with water. One thing I learned about this. Never steal booze from the freezer. I had a friend who replaced his depleted parent’s vodka with water. When they decided to make a martini, the bottle had frozen, so in essence they had a Stoli popsicle.
A disgusting part of the stealing method was that we would just mix up any type of booze. My method was I would grab an almost empty salad dressing container and pour it out. (Remember those things? It was a glass carafe that people would add a seasoning packet and then add Oil and Vinegar and wallah, Italian dressing!) After it was emptied, I would wash it out and then proceed to my parent’s Liquor Cabinet. Then I would just start adding booze to it. I would be very careful I didn’t take too much from one bottle and get snagged. Vodka, Run, Vermouth, Gin, Whiskey, whatever there was, would be poured in there. Sure it tasted like shit, but who cares it was Friday night and me and my High School pals were going to get a buzz on.
Sidebar. When I was in college there was a guy we called Big Fat, Frat Matt. Man could this guy party. His nickname did almost get me my assed kicked one night. A bunch of us went to a club in town and I wasn’t wearing my glasses. (I didn’t like the frames anymore. I looked like an older version of Ralphy from the movie, “A Christmas Story.) So from a distance I see the bouncer and he appears to be Matt. So I’m yelling, “Big Fat, Frat, Matt!” Well it wasn’t him and I had to talk my way out of that situation, which wasn’t easy. How do you explain to a guy that you look like his friend who you call fat? I think I told the guy he was in much better shape and had way more definition then Matt. Anyway this guy Matt was at a party one night and he was wasted. He had done shrooms and smoked some hash and was feeling no pain. So we decided to make him a drink. The thing is the drink was a Vodka and Italian Dressing on the rocks. I think he would have drank it but we were laughing so hard when he was about to take a sip that we blew it. That would have been classic if he had downed it and more classic if he liked the taste of it
To be continued...
A disgusting part of the stealing method was that we would just mix up any type of booze. My method was I would grab an almost empty salad dressing container and pour it out. (Remember those things? It was a glass carafe that people would add a seasoning packet and then add Oil and Vinegar and wallah, Italian dressing!) After it was emptied, I would wash it out and then proceed to my parent’s Liquor Cabinet. Then I would just start adding booze to it. I would be very careful I didn’t take too much from one bottle and get snagged. Vodka, Run, Vermouth, Gin, Whiskey, whatever there was, would be poured in there. Sure it tasted like shit, but who cares it was Friday night and me and my High School pals were going to get a buzz on.
Sidebar. When I was in college there was a guy we called Big Fat, Frat Matt. Man could this guy party. His nickname did almost get me my assed kicked one night. A bunch of us went to a club in town and I wasn’t wearing my glasses. (I didn’t like the frames anymore. I looked like an older version of Ralphy from the movie, “A Christmas Story.) So from a distance I see the bouncer and he appears to be Matt. So I’m yelling, “Big Fat, Frat, Matt!” Well it wasn’t him and I had to talk my way out of that situation, which wasn’t easy. How do you explain to a guy that you look like his friend who you call fat? I think I told the guy he was in much better shape and had way more definition then Matt. Anyway this guy Matt was at a party one night and he was wasted. He had done shrooms and smoked some hash and was feeling no pain. So we decided to make him a drink. The thing is the drink was a Vodka and Italian Dressing on the rocks. I think he would have drank it but we were laughing so hard when he was about to take a sip that we blew it. That would have been classic if he had downed it and more classic if he liked the taste of it
To be continued...
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
The Politics of Drinking - Part 1
Well, let us put it this way. I am a drinker. And I’m a very good drinker. You know how when a professional athlete ends his career and they retire his number? When I stop drinking, they will retire my liver and it will be at my favorite bar in a glass jar filled with formaldehyde. When I drink with my friends it is an event. One of my buddy’s wife said, “You guys drink until the cows come home.” And she was right. Because when the cows got there, we made White Russians! (Oh and people who say, “You can have fun without drinking,” are full of shit!
I started drinking in high school. (Wouldn’t have it been fucked up if I said I started drinking when I was four years old? Could you imagine a hammered four year old raising hell? Driving like a madman, actually it would be a madkid, on his Big Wheel and trying to nail his baby sitter? I would like to see that kid on one of those bullshit reality shows like Super Nanny, and watch him just fuck with her!)
High school drinking was when we were amateurs in the art of partying. We were just glad to have alcohol, because it was hard to get, so we just slammed it and never really enjoyed it. The extents we would go to trying to get some booze was crazy. If you were lucky you had a big brother or big sister who would buy it for you. But of course this would always be accompanied by the speech of, “If you get caught, don’t tell Mom and Dad I bought it for you, ok?”
One of the worst ways was the “Hanging in the Liquor Store Parking Lot Method.” My friends and I would stand about 8 cars lengths away from the store. Then we would scope out people as they walked in to get there booze. We had to make sure the person looked cool, but not untrustworthy cool. (Because that was the asshole would steal your money and not deliver your goods.) Finally we would get the courage up to approach some one and ask them if they would buy some alcohol for us. This was always a hassle because you couldn’t go in a group, because that would look too shady and look too obvious. So it would usually come down to rock, paper, scissors for who would be the person who pulled it off. When you had to be the one, you would always worry that you may approach an undercover cop and then you would be arrested and be totally fucked! (Which when you think about it, how many undercover police officers are cruising parking lots to bust teens trying to buy booze?) Anyway, it would usually take a few rejections, but finally some nice soul would hook it up. (It was so awkward asking people to buy it because it made you feel like a derelict. Oh and we always prayed that we wouldn’t be seen by one of our parent’s friends in the parking lot.) And of course the person who did the deed would always say, “If you get caught, you didn’t get it from me.”
To be continued...
I started drinking in high school. (Wouldn’t have it been fucked up if I said I started drinking when I was four years old? Could you imagine a hammered four year old raising hell? Driving like a madman, actually it would be a madkid, on his Big Wheel and trying to nail his baby sitter? I would like to see that kid on one of those bullshit reality shows like Super Nanny, and watch him just fuck with her!)
High school drinking was when we were amateurs in the art of partying. We were just glad to have alcohol, because it was hard to get, so we just slammed it and never really enjoyed it. The extents we would go to trying to get some booze was crazy. If you were lucky you had a big brother or big sister who would buy it for you. But of course this would always be accompanied by the speech of, “If you get caught, don’t tell Mom and Dad I bought it for you, ok?”
One of the worst ways was the “Hanging in the Liquor Store Parking Lot Method.” My friends and I would stand about 8 cars lengths away from the store. Then we would scope out people as they walked in to get there booze. We had to make sure the person looked cool, but not untrustworthy cool. (Because that was the asshole would steal your money and not deliver your goods.) Finally we would get the courage up to approach some one and ask them if they would buy some alcohol for us. This was always a hassle because you couldn’t go in a group, because that would look too shady and look too obvious. So it would usually come down to rock, paper, scissors for who would be the person who pulled it off. When you had to be the one, you would always worry that you may approach an undercover cop and then you would be arrested and be totally fucked! (Which when you think about it, how many undercover police officers are cruising parking lots to bust teens trying to buy booze?) Anyway, it would usually take a few rejections, but finally some nice soul would hook it up. (It was so awkward asking people to buy it because it made you feel like a derelict. Oh and we always prayed that we wouldn’t be seen by one of our parent’s friends in the parking lot.) And of course the person who did the deed would always say, “If you get caught, you didn’t get it from me.”
To be continued...
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Random Samplings
I recently saw the classic rock band Kansas in concert. However it was only two of the original members. This isn’t Kansas this is only part of Kansas. They should be called Wichita.
Tracey Gold, the actress who suffered from Anorexia when she was on Growing Pains is now hosting a reality show about people with eating disorders. It’s called Hunger Pains.
The members of Men at Work and Men Without Hats are forming a new band. It’s called Men Without Work.
Can a gay man wear a straight jacket? And if so, is it pastel?
Saw Bravo’s new reality show, The Real House Wives of Salt Lake City. What’s interesting is they are all married to the same guy.
I saw Mister Mister in concert. It was only the original lead singer. They are now called Mister.
If Sheryl Crow married Russell Crowe, would she keep her maiden name or add an E?
They say you should eat five fruits and vegetables and day. That’s a lot during the week and I don’t have the time for that. So on Sunday I eat 35 fruits and vegetables. Mondays are hell. I’m not regular, I’m congruent.
I went to the gym for the first time in years. I started working out and an employee said, “Sir, get off the coat rack.”
I bought the Ab-Slider. It rolls the best pizza dough.
Tracey Gold, the actress who suffered from Anorexia when she was on Growing Pains is now hosting a reality show about people with eating disorders. It’s called Hunger Pains.
The members of Men at Work and Men Without Hats are forming a new band. It’s called Men Without Work.
Can a gay man wear a straight jacket? And if so, is it pastel?
Saw Bravo’s new reality show, The Real House Wives of Salt Lake City. What’s interesting is they are all married to the same guy.
I saw Mister Mister in concert. It was only the original lead singer. They are now called Mister.
If Sheryl Crow married Russell Crowe, would she keep her maiden name or add an E?
They say you should eat five fruits and vegetables and day. That’s a lot during the week and I don’t have the time for that. So on Sunday I eat 35 fruits and vegetables. Mondays are hell. I’m not regular, I’m congruent.
I went to the gym for the first time in years. I started working out and an employee said, “Sir, get off the coat rack.”
I bought the Ab-Slider. It rolls the best pizza dough.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Things I Am Thankful For - Conclusion
I am thankful that I know how to tell a joke and know a lot of them. I can’t stand when some dunce tries to tell me a joke and it takes the person ten fucking years to spit it out. And then they screw it up and have to start over again and again. As they drone on through what seems like an eternal hell, you are praying that the punch line is funny. But it never is and you already knew it anyway.
I am thankful my parents taught me manners and for the people who appreciate them. However, I swear to god, if I hold the door for some ignorant asshole one more time and they forget to say, “Thank You,” I will put them in a blender and push frappe’!
I am thankful for cameras on cell phones. When I am out drinking and get a girl’s phone number I always can snap a picture of what they look like so the next day I know whether to call them or not. However, women I meet have snapped my photo and they haven’t called me back. Bummer!
I am thankful that I am not a one upper. You know that type of person. Whatever you have done, they have done it better. If you drink 7-Up, they drink 8-up. If you said you have dated some beautiful women, they say that they have dated models that have walked the runways in France. (Oh, and the one upper is a fucking troglodyte.) If you say you saw Springsteen front row, they say they actually jumped up on stage and instead of getting thrown off, Clarence gave them his tambourine and they jammed with the E-Street Band! You all know the type of asshole I am talking about, unless you are that asshole. If that is the case I am sorry you have to read my blog, because you probably have published a 600 page, Pulitzer Prize winning novel.
I am thankful I have never wanted to be a mime. Well, I was a tap dancing mime for awhile and I was good. So good, you couldn’t hear my feet! Who becomes a mime anyway? How fucked up do you have to be to wear white make up on your face, a beret, a red scarf, a striped shirt and have Shields and Yarnell posters on your wall?
I am thankful that I know how to give a compliment and enjoy doing it. I would hate to be the guy who gives a compliment and it comes across insincere, perverted, creepy or like you are just trying to get down someone’s pants! Of course if the latter happens because of the compliments, I am not going to complain!
I am thankful that I have never been the new annoying person at any job I have worked. I am usually quiet when I start and once I get to know my co-workers I let them see my funny side. I can’t stand that asshole that is always “on” and thinks he knows everything. He needs to be popular even though he never has been and never will be. Oh, FYI, “We don’t give a fuck how it was done at your other job. So go into the corner, put a rope around your neck and I will come over and kick the chair out. Thank you, jerk off!”
I am thankful that I have a good sense of humor and it allows me to get away with saying things that other people can’t. It is a great feeling to tell someone who is an asshole that they are an asshole to their face and follow that up with the line, “I’m just joking,” which even though you aren’t, it seems like you are. It is even better when that asshole laughs and buys you a drink. “Thanks, for the beer. Asshole!”
I am thankful that I can be a dick, but I know I can be a dick. Because when that happens and you admit being a dick, then people don’t really think you are that much of a dick because you admitted it. I would hate to be the person who can be a dick, but doesn’t think they are a dick. When that happens you are then perceived of being even a bigger dick then you are!
A serious note. I am thankful for, well one thing, spell check and the green lines that show up if you wrote the sentence wrong. (Because grammatically, I am a fucking moron!) Actually, I am thankful for my friends and family and being able to express myself. I am thankful for those who read my blog, because without you, I couldn’t get gratification that my writing makes you laugh. So, happy Thanksgiving!
I am thankful my parents taught me manners and for the people who appreciate them. However, I swear to god, if I hold the door for some ignorant asshole one more time and they forget to say, “Thank You,” I will put them in a blender and push frappe’!
I am thankful for cameras on cell phones. When I am out drinking and get a girl’s phone number I always can snap a picture of what they look like so the next day I know whether to call them or not. However, women I meet have snapped my photo and they haven’t called me back. Bummer!
I am thankful that I am not a one upper. You know that type of person. Whatever you have done, they have done it better. If you drink 7-Up, they drink 8-up. If you said you have dated some beautiful women, they say that they have dated models that have walked the runways in France. (Oh, and the one upper is a fucking troglodyte.) If you say you saw Springsteen front row, they say they actually jumped up on stage and instead of getting thrown off, Clarence gave them his tambourine and they jammed with the E-Street Band! You all know the type of asshole I am talking about, unless you are that asshole. If that is the case I am sorry you have to read my blog, because you probably have published a 600 page, Pulitzer Prize winning novel.
I am thankful I have never wanted to be a mime. Well, I was a tap dancing mime for awhile and I was good. So good, you couldn’t hear my feet! Who becomes a mime anyway? How fucked up do you have to be to wear white make up on your face, a beret, a red scarf, a striped shirt and have Shields and Yarnell posters on your wall?
I am thankful that I know how to give a compliment and enjoy doing it. I would hate to be the guy who gives a compliment and it comes across insincere, perverted, creepy or like you are just trying to get down someone’s pants! Of course if the latter happens because of the compliments, I am not going to complain!
I am thankful that I have never been the new annoying person at any job I have worked. I am usually quiet when I start and once I get to know my co-workers I let them see my funny side. I can’t stand that asshole that is always “on” and thinks he knows everything. He needs to be popular even though he never has been and never will be. Oh, FYI, “We don’t give a fuck how it was done at your other job. So go into the corner, put a rope around your neck and I will come over and kick the chair out. Thank you, jerk off!”
I am thankful that I have a good sense of humor and it allows me to get away with saying things that other people can’t. It is a great feeling to tell someone who is an asshole that they are an asshole to their face and follow that up with the line, “I’m just joking,” which even though you aren’t, it seems like you are. It is even better when that asshole laughs and buys you a drink. “Thanks, for the beer. Asshole!”
I am thankful that I can be a dick, but I know I can be a dick. Because when that happens and you admit being a dick, then people don’t really think you are that much of a dick because you admitted it. I would hate to be the person who can be a dick, but doesn’t think they are a dick. When that happens you are then perceived of being even a bigger dick then you are!
A serious note. I am thankful for, well one thing, spell check and the green lines that show up if you wrote the sentence wrong. (Because grammatically, I am a fucking moron!) Actually, I am thankful for my friends and family and being able to express myself. I am thankful for those who read my blog, because without you, I couldn’t get gratification that my writing makes you laugh. So, happy Thanksgiving!
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Things I Am Thankful For - Part 1
As Thanksgiving approaches, we need to reflect on what we are thankful for in life. That is what Thanksgiving is to me, because to be honest, I’m not a real big fan of turkey. It tends to be dry unless you add a shitload of gravy to it. I prefer the dark meat which is moister, but when ever I eat it, some health addicted fucker says, “That is the unhealthiest part of the bird!” Well, no shit Sherlock! But it tastes good so leave me alone.
My favorite part of the meal is stuffing. And I don’t mean that bullshit, gourmet kind with apples, raisons and walnuts. Just give me good ole’ stuffing and lots of it. Make me a turkey out of motherfucking Stovetop and I will be one happy camper!
So, here is what I am thankful for:
I am thankful that even though I am bald, my head looks good when I buzz it. I am glad that I don’t have a cantaloupe looking dome with bumps and veins all over it. Also I am glad that I don’t have a huge friggin’ head and I don’t look like the gay Mr. Clean being bald.
I am thankful that even though I am over forty years old, I can still dress hip and not look like a fucking fool! I’m glad that the word Dockers isn’t in my vocabulary and that I don’t look like I just walked off the golf course whenever I go out!
I am thankful that my generation got a chance to listen to so many different and eclectic types of music. It makes me happy that we had one hit wonders and they weren’t what was supposed to be the face of music to come. I am glad that the big hit makers weren’t groups like My Chemical Romance, Limp Bizcuit and what other group was here today gone tonight! Oh and I am glad that the rap I got to listen to was groups like N.W.A., Public Enemy and Westside Connection. (Groups that were angry, but made more of a statement than just calling out bitches and hoes!)
I am thankful that my parents taught me about art when I was younger. I know Degas paints ballerinas, Dali was a surrealist and Kandinski used geometrics in his art. Oh and I am glad that I don’t pretend that I know about art. (I hate the guy who raves about Monet at a party. Monet? Come on, you are a fucking dude! Hell Trix are for kids and water lilies are for women!)
I am thankful that even though my legs are skinny, I look all right in shorts. I would hate to be that guy that should never wear shorts but still does. I don’t need to see chubby, pale, tree trunk legs when I am at a restaurant! Oh and while you are at it lose the fucking Hawaiian shirt. (They should only be worn at a Buffet concert or if you are in Hawaii or Florida. I know you are on vacation in Cali, but it is November, so please get a fucking clue!)
I am thankful that my close friends have nicer and bigger cars than me. Because that means I never have to be the Designated Driver or have to worry about driving while intoxicated. So thank you my BMW and Infiniti owning friends. You have saved me having to do a field sobriety test…again!
I am thankful for the hair metal bands that still tour. It is great that you can see Poison, Warrant and Cinderella on the same bill for about twenty five bucks. It is also great that you can see lovely cougars with teased hair, tight jeans, cleavage in excess and those little socks that the girls wore in the ZZ Top videos!
I am thankful that my parents stressed me getting an education and to follow my dreams. I would hate to be living in a trailer park and eating spam and Velveeta every night with five inbred children. I am also glad that I am not married to a pregnant Carny who is about to give birth during her shift running the tiltawhirl!
I am thankful that I have a lot of friends. I would hate to be that creepy, lonely guy at the bar that strikes up a conversation with you and then annoys the crap out of you ten seconds later. I am also glad I am not lonely like that old man in the Pet Smart commercials. You know the one who is on the bus stop in the rain on Christmas and then gets home and his only company is his dog.
To be continued...
My favorite part of the meal is stuffing. And I don’t mean that bullshit, gourmet kind with apples, raisons and walnuts. Just give me good ole’ stuffing and lots of it. Make me a turkey out of motherfucking Stovetop and I will be one happy camper!
So, here is what I am thankful for:
I am thankful that even though I am bald, my head looks good when I buzz it. I am glad that I don’t have a cantaloupe looking dome with bumps and veins all over it. Also I am glad that I don’t have a huge friggin’ head and I don’t look like the gay Mr. Clean being bald.
I am thankful that even though I am over forty years old, I can still dress hip and not look like a fucking fool! I’m glad that the word Dockers isn’t in my vocabulary and that I don’t look like I just walked off the golf course whenever I go out!
I am thankful that my generation got a chance to listen to so many different and eclectic types of music. It makes me happy that we had one hit wonders and they weren’t what was supposed to be the face of music to come. I am glad that the big hit makers weren’t groups like My Chemical Romance, Limp Bizcuit and what other group was here today gone tonight! Oh and I am glad that the rap I got to listen to was groups like N.W.A., Public Enemy and Westside Connection. (Groups that were angry, but made more of a statement than just calling out bitches and hoes!)
I am thankful that my parents taught me about art when I was younger. I know Degas paints ballerinas, Dali was a surrealist and Kandinski used geometrics in his art. Oh and I am glad that I don’t pretend that I know about art. (I hate the guy who raves about Monet at a party. Monet? Come on, you are a fucking dude! Hell Trix are for kids and water lilies are for women!)
I am thankful that even though my legs are skinny, I look all right in shorts. I would hate to be that guy that should never wear shorts but still does. I don’t need to see chubby, pale, tree trunk legs when I am at a restaurant! Oh and while you are at it lose the fucking Hawaiian shirt. (They should only be worn at a Buffet concert or if you are in Hawaii or Florida. I know you are on vacation in Cali, but it is November, so please get a fucking clue!)
I am thankful that my close friends have nicer and bigger cars than me. Because that means I never have to be the Designated Driver or have to worry about driving while intoxicated. So thank you my BMW and Infiniti owning friends. You have saved me having to do a field sobriety test…again!
I am thankful for the hair metal bands that still tour. It is great that you can see Poison, Warrant and Cinderella on the same bill for about twenty five bucks. It is also great that you can see lovely cougars with teased hair, tight jeans, cleavage in excess and those little socks that the girls wore in the ZZ Top videos!
I am thankful that my parents stressed me getting an education and to follow my dreams. I would hate to be living in a trailer park and eating spam and Velveeta every night with five inbred children. I am also glad that I am not married to a pregnant Carny who is about to give birth during her shift running the tiltawhirl!
I am thankful that I have a lot of friends. I would hate to be that creepy, lonely guy at the bar that strikes up a conversation with you and then annoys the crap out of you ten seconds later. I am also glad I am not lonely like that old man in the Pet Smart commercials. You know the one who is on the bus stop in the rain on Christmas and then gets home and his only company is his dog.
To be continued...
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